sleepy and tired.

Grandmother's voice echoes through my memory as I recite Thiruppavai verses, exhausted after night shifts earning crypto. Kannadasan's poetry once moved her soul; now screens flicker before my weary eyes. The irony isn't lost—ancestral wisdom meets digital hustle. My fingers ache typing into wallets while neighbors whisper judgment. Some call it shameful, this new economy. Yet I persist, grounded in purpose, earning enough to honor traditions she cherished. Tonight, wrapped in blankets, I'll recite those sacred verses again. Not with shame, but with the warmth of knowing our community endures, evolving yet connected to heritage.